


The Footprints That We Leave (Crush Us Till We're Free)

by Kawaiibooker



Series: V [4]
Category: Metal Gear
Genre: Angst with a Happy Ending, Animal Death, Canon Divergence, Dogs, Drinking to Cope, Established Relationship, Lots of Hurt/Little Comfort, M/M, Manpain, Post-TPP, Suicidal Thoughts, Temporary Character Death, and any other Master Miller tags you can think of
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-11-13
Updated: 2017-04-16
Packaged: 2018-08-30 20:44:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 3
Words: 14,184
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8548510
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Kawaiibooker/pseuds/Kawaiibooker
Summary: All good things must come to an end.Or do they?





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Set in the 1990s; this is a direct sequel to [Learning To Stand (On Our Own Two Feet)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5443106/chapters/12579500), [Let Our Shadows Fall Away (Like Dust)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/5629042/chapters/12966085) and [Search For Tomorrow (I'll Light The Dawn)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/6163885/chapters/14123353). Please read those first!
> 
> As always, I made a playlist for this fic here [[x]](http://8tracks.com/kawaiibooker/1995)

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by polyphaga.
> 
> Before you jump into it: Read the tags carefully and keep in mind this series is to its core canon-divergent!

“...you should've seen it, Kaz – forty against one and all it took was a barking dog to distract them all. Got away easy after that.” Venom laughs and rubs said dog's snout affectionately. Wagging his tail, DD blinks happily at his owner. “Saved my ass again, huh?”

Beside him Kaz shakes his head, leaning back on his hands. His legs dangle over the enclosure below where a pair of okapis are grazing peacefully. “Lucky bastard. Be glad I wasn't on mission support or I would've strangled you for that stunt.”

“Mhm, sure.” Snake isn't particularly worried and his tone reflects that. He pinches DD's ears to flop them from side to side, matching the rhythm of the dog's tail thumping against the railing. A quiet sigh distracts him from their little game.

Venom looks up to see a serene smile on Kaz's lips, aviators off and eyes closed, face tilted to capture the last of the sunlight. Relaxed. A more common sight these days. It's then that he notices how much time has passed: From new wrinkles at the corner of Kaz's eyes and mouth to the length of his hair – it's grown past his shoulders, neatly kept in a ponytail most days – Kaz ages with grace, but ages nonetheless. Taking in the subtle freckles on his sun-kissed skin, Venom smiles. Despite everything the years have been good to him.

He wonders if the same can be said about himself. There's more white in his hair than anything else, his collection of scars only growing with every mission. Snake doesn't like to admit it but his body aches almost constantly now, a minute pain that's easy to ignore while he's busy. _Old bones_ , he muses then chuckles at his own train of thought. _How vain._

“What's so funny?”

Kaz's voice is closer than expected. Venom blinks and shifts automatically when he leans into him, humming happily at the soft touch of Kaz's lips on his cheek. "Been thinking... Should I retire?”

Kaz stops, clearly surprised. “Depends, really”, he says at length. “Where's this coming from?”

Snake glances down to the dog dozing on his lap. He feels Kaz's undivided attention on him, his neck tingling warmly. “Those hostiles... I didn't hear 'em coming, Kaz. Wasn't the first time, either. Without DD...” He trails off, scratching DD's favorite spot between his ears. The tail-wagging resumes albeit a bit sleepier.

“You're only human, V. Mistakes happen.”

 _They can't happen_ , Venom thinks. _Not to me._ He says nothing.

“Hey, look at me.” Kaz takes his hand, drawing Venom's gaze back to him. “Do you want to retire?”

“If I'm not fit for duty then–“

“V.” Snake shuts up with a click of teeth. Kaz is dead serious, determination glinting in his eyes. “Do you _want_ to?”

The fight leaves Venom in one long exhale. “I don't know. _Can_ I? Don't think Big Boss would like it much.”

“ _You're_ Big Boss. You can do whatever you want.”

It's a bold lie and they both know it. Snake appreciates the sentiment anyways. “It'd be nice not to be away so much and... Quiet and I are running out of boardgames to play in the chopper. Better quit while I'm leading the score.”

Kaz snorts. “Yeah, God forbid the parasite wins.”

“Kaz...”

He rolls his eyes. “She's got a name, I know.” Kaz's teasing expression turns serious again. His fingers tighten around Venom's. “I'd like it too, y'know. I'd miss ordering you around”, a flash of a grin, “but I wouldn't complain to have you here more permanently.”

“I still needs things to do, retired or not”, Snake concedes with a wry smile. “So you can order me around all you like.”

“Hmm, sounds good to me.” Kaz licks his lips, chuckling when Venom can't resist a kiss that turns from a quick peck to something more tender, a form of comfort that surpasses words.

They stay there a while longer, watch dusk turn to night until it's just them and the stars above. In that moment, the future belongs to them and everything is possible.

*

A week later Venom finds a tape on his bed. _From The Man Who Sold The World_ it reads and he remembers: the future was never theirs to begin with.

*

Snake watches his hair fall, covering the ground around him. It's quiet beside the sharp snipping of scissors. He glances at his reflection – tired, drawn, eyes dim in the hard fluorescent light – then at Kaz. His expression is tense, dominated by a concentrated frown as he works. Closed off.

In the mirror Venom Snake gradually turns to Big Boss. He looks away.

“I hate this.”

Kaz's voice is hard yet his hands are gentle as he tilts Venom's head up, framing his face protectively before he resumes. Slowly but surely his long strands yield to a short cut, hair cropped close to his scalp.

Venom sighs. “Told you Fox could do it.”

Bionic fingers tighten on his jaw. “He's too good with knives. I'd rather do this myself.” Kaz's eyes narrow. “Wasn't what I meant anyways.”

“I know.”

Their gazes meet for a brief moment. Venom taps the cassette in his hand, the click of metal against plastic loud in the resulting silence. _Not here._

It's the third he found in the course of a few months, identical to the others of its kind down to the title and brand of the tape. The contents vary from development projects to missions to personal changes, all spoken with smooth composure, worded as suggestions when they're anything but. There's no discernable pattern to them except their location – always in Venom's room, easy to spot on his bed or desk – and their ending. _Thank you, my friend_ then the recording stops.

Snake has followed each one to a T. The missions were nothing special: steal blueprints, fulton targets, gather resources, all from high security facilities affiliated directly or indirectly with XOF. He brings everything back to Mother Base and from one day to the next it's gone, no traces left behind. By all means it should be impossible – Outer Heaven is an impenetrable fortress, each and every squad on patrol honed to the best of their abilities. Every attack from the outside is detected and dealt with in mere hours, following specialized protocols that Kaz updates regularly, testing their execution in surprise drills.

But corruption runs deep, down to Diamond Dogs' very roots. To what extent neither of them knows and Snake can only watch as Kaz goes tense with distrust every time he steps out his office, every time they're separated for more than a few hours. They fight, reverting to old positions as they circle the same problem over and over without solution. Kaz wants revenge. Venom hesitates.

Until now.

“I remember Kyoto”, Venom says eventually. His head is lowered, held down by Kaz so he can reach the back of his neck to give the cut its finishing touches. The pressure lets up when his words register and he straightens a little, catching Kaz's wide-eyed look in the mirror.

For the first time in weeks, Kaz smiles. Reluctant to hope. “Yeah?”

Snake leans back, head bumping against Kaz's chest. “Yeah.”

The scissors clank against the sink as Kaz drops them, cupping Venom's face in his hands again. His thumbs brush over his cheeks, his beard rasping against metal and skin. Venom closes his eyes, warmth curling around his heart at the kiss Kaz presses against his temple.

Venom hums, nuzzling his cheek in return. “Been thinking about telling Pequod and Quiet.” He keeps his voice low, just in case. “Some others, too. Gather 'round allies, build up defenses. Might take a while.”

Kaz nods. “I know. Leave it to me.” He wraps his arms around Venom's shoulders to hug him close. “Thank you”, he whispers, lips brushing his ear.

Venom reaches for Kaz and smiles at his reflection when he sees his fingers disappear in long blonde strands. “I love your hair, did I ever tell you that? Looks good on you.”

Kaz's laugh sounds a bit choked. He rights himself, rubbing his flesh hand over Snake's short hair. “Already missing yours?”

Venom shrugs, looks himself over. Resolve shines in his eyes. “A little, maybe.”

He puts on his eye patch, pockets the tape.

“Guess it was time for a change.”

*

Music plays softly, mixing with the ambient sound of the desert night. Even in this seemingly desolate place nature lives and breathes around them. They're never quite alone.

Lying on his back, head pillowed on his hands, Venom listens to Quiet's humming and watches the moon rise. His thoughts are hundreds of miles away, sleep a far thing on his mind. Somewhere out there, Kaz is meeting their first possible ally.

“Can I ask you a favor?”, he says like he's continuing an on-going conversation. Quiet stops, right before the chorus of _Kids in America_. Venom feels a little guilty. After all these years it's still her favorite song.

“Ocelot.” Venom turns his head to take in her expression. Perched on a large boulder, she blinks calmly then tilts her head, not moving from where she's keeping watch. She's listening. “He's the link, his most loyal man. When the time comes he'll be the first to move. We need to be quicker.”

They're silent until the song ends and a new one begins, the upbeat tune of _Maneater_ going unnoticed. Quiet uncrosses her legs to stand and walks the few steps to his camp, careful to side-step him as she sits down again.

“Keep your eyes on him?” What should've been an order comes out as a question and yet Quiet accepts it with a small nod. No hesitation. Snake exhales. “Be careful. He knows your abilities better than most.”

Quiet's knee nudges his hip. Venom glances at her teasing smile – she's been doing that a lot, ever since she started going steady with Buffalo – and huffs, nudges back.

“Shut up, I'm allowed to worry. Someone's gotta do it.”

She turns serious again. Her eyes flit over his face and she frowns, reaching over to tap his cheek. _Cheer up, old man._

All at once, Snake is glad she's here. “I'm fine. Got you looking out for me, huh?”

Quiet smirks, nods again. In the blink of an eye, she's back at her watch point, one leg propped up, the other swinging idly.

Venom chuckles. He makes himself comfortable, giving her his back and closing his eye. “Hey, Q?”, he mumbles, just before he falls asleep, "Thanks."

Quiet says nothing. She rewinds the tape until she hits _Kids of America_. She hums. Venom sleeps.

*

“Remember our first kiss?”, Kaz asks him one night, leaning his head on his bionic hand. He traces Venom's bottom lip with the other, his fingertip leaving the ghost of a touch on chapped skin.

Steadying him with an arm around his waist, Venom shifts into a more comfortable position, shaking his pillow behind himself. Statisfied, he lies back down. Kaz is warm against him, slightly sticky as their combined body heat makes them sweat.

It's perfect.

Venom licks his lips, tongue brushing Kaz's finger. Kaz's gaze flickers down then up again, cocking an eyebrow. _Quit stalling._ Venom smiles. “Which one? The zoo one or the crane one?”

Kaz snorts. “I said the first one, genius.”

“'course I do. You rejected me.” Venom pouts, mostly to see Kaz roll his eyes.

“Get over it already. It's been, what, seven years?” When Snake's expression stays unchanged he sighs and leans forward to give him a peck. “There. Happy?”

“Mhm. Very.”

They look at each other for a moment. Kaz shakes his head, laughing. “You're the worst, V.”

“But you love me anyways, hm?”

“'course I do”, he repeats without missing a beat. Venom's chest feels light. His hands slide down Kaz's side, squeezing his waist, pulling him closer against him. Kaz hums, responds easily to Venom's kiss that's little more than a fleeting brush of lips. Before Venom gives in to the spark of want warming his belly he stops, holding Kaz back with a gentle hand on his shoulder.

“Why'd you ask?”

“Hm?”

He caresses the delicate curve of Kaz's collar bone with his metal thumb. “About the kiss.”

Kaz shrugs. A strangely distant look crosses his face as he chews his answer over. “It's been awhile, hasn't it?”, he says, testing.

Venom frowns, trying to follow his line of thinking. “Is that bad?”

“No, just... unexpected, I guess.” Kaz lies his head down on Venom's shoulder, rubbing his nose against the hollow of his throat. Lower, he says: “Never had anything last before.”

It's second nature to embrace him then, the vulnerable tone in Kaz's voice making Venom's heart squeeze once, painfully. “I'm not going anywhere, Kaz”, he mumbles into his hair, brushing it out of his face carefully. “'m yours as long as you'll have me.”

Kaz's lashes tickle his skin when he closes his eyes. “Better prepare for a long stay, then.”

*

A year into their efforts Ocelot joins Venom on a morning walk with the dogs, matching his wide stride casually. “It won't work”, he says. His gaze is trained on Venom when he glances over, blue eyes cold, mouth tense.

Snake doesn't reply. He whistles DD back from the container he's climbing on, gives him a pat on the head when he trots to his and Kinako's side. They go around the Command Platform and past a group of recruits smoking on their break. The soldiers salute, their COs nod. It's a pattern, in synch, predictable. A picture of perfect unity, a lie lived day after day.

Eventually, Ocelot stops. “Boss.” He sighs when Venom doesn't react.

“Vincente.”

Venom closes his eye, lowers his head. It's the first time Ocelot has used his name. Slowing to a stop, he rasps, “Yeah?”

“It won't work.”

Ocelot sounds... sad, almost. Snake turns around to face him, searching his expression for anything genuine. Even after years of working together it's difficult to figure him out and yet he finds some warmth there when the other gestures between them, “It doesn't have to be this way.”

“I know, Adamska. But I'm not you.” Ocelot frowns but doesn't interrupt him. From one pawn to another, pretense is pointless. “Honestly? I'm tired. Kaz is, too. We did our part but it's never enough, not for him.” Venom rubs his temple, soothing the dull ache that comes with the thought.

Ocelot nods. “So be it, then.” He makes to leave but hesitates, eyes dropping to DD and Kinako waiting a few feet away. “Do me a favor? Call back your dog. This game of tag is getting old.”

 _The ocelot got bored of us hounds, huh?_ Venom meets Ocelot's sharp smirk with his own. “I'll see what I can do. Do _me_ a favor?” He remembers a flash of pain, gloved hands around the hilt of a knife. “Be gentle.”

Mild surprise registers in the way Ocelot raises his eyebrows. He smiles.

“I'll see what I can do.”

*

Kaz stands at the landing zone when Venom returns from his latest mission, for once not flanked by saluting soldiers.

He waits for him to hop off the chopper, then nods towards their usual walk route, “Boss. A word?”

Snake lets him lead silently, following Kaz off the main platform and down the stairs to the ways used during construction, kept unchanged for maintenance. They pass Stone Mastodon on their way there and he salutes, already reaching for Venom's radio and other electronic equipment.

“Keep it on”, Venom reminds him, giving him the iDroid last. “And don't order christmas supplies again, I saw that.”

“Sorry, Boss”, Mastodon says, usually grim eyes glinting with mischief. He doesn't look the least bit sorry.

They walk on. Here, in the last part of Outer Heaven that belongs fully to them, Venom can finally slow down, a limp showing in his step from the fall he took in the field. _Another careless mistake._ Kaz's worried frown tells him he noticed but he doesn't comment on it. Snake remembers his shocked gasp when it happened, the strain in his voice afterwards that carried clearly over the radio. Kaz moves closer instead, linking their arms to steady him. A moment later he says:

“I found his son.”

“Eli?”, Venom asks, somewhat hopeful. He'd always wondered how the kid was doing.

Kaz shakes his head. “The other one, David. Tripped over some files from the Green Berets, seems like they relocated some rookie by the same name. 20 years old, impeccable record, talent for strategic thinking...” Digging into the pocket of his trench coat, he shows him a photo. It's grainy, black and white yet it only takes one glance to confirm Kaz is right. Snake would recognize that face anywhere. “Just like his father.”

There's more, Venom can tell. He looks from the photo back to Kaz. “Where'd he get relocated to?”

“Nowhere.” Kaz answers his skeptic “Yeah, right” with a scoff. “Simply dropped off the radar. Looked into some other 'disappearances', pulled some strings and tada, secret agency. A unit called FOXHOUND.”

“FOX...? Sounds familiar.”

“That's because it is. Lead by none other than Big Boss himself.”

Snake tightens his hold on Kaz. “...You found him?”

“Yup. Couldn't get much more than that from the outside though.”

They come to a stop. Their eyes meet.

“Kaz–“

“I know. I know what you're gonna say but V–” Kaz rubs his eyes under the aviators, then takes them off completely. He looks overworked, exhausted. “There's not a single reason I can think of why he'd forget about his hatred for the US government. And why's he putting pressure on us _now_ , after years of leaving us alone for the most part? Something's up, I just _know_ it."

Venom searches his face. Kaz's intuition is rarely wrong but– "We can't know for sure. Could be a trap, could be anything–"

"All the more reason to get in there and see for ourselves." Kaz shakes the photo. "This could be the edge we need. Trust me on this, V."

 _Trust me._ Venom sighs, nods hesitantly. “Not happy 'bout this but... What's the plan, then?”

Kaz grins. “How does survival instructor Master Miller sound to you?”

*

Kazuhira Miller returns to active duty on a mild spring afternoon, almost a decade after his last deployment to Afghanistan. Fixing his ponytail, he makes his way confidently towards the chopper, Kinako trailing close behind.

Snake is already there. He eyes Kaz's outfit – combat boots, green camo pants, a matching tank top, black gloves – and has to admit it suits him, as unfamiliar as it is. The rest of his equipment is stored away under his seat as is his coat and his old crutch, just in case.

“Got everything?”, Venom asks in a low voice, leaning in close. Kaz nods, a fond smile tugging at his lips at Venom's unchanged frown. He places two gloved fingers under Venom's chin.

“Your face is gonna get stuck that way, V. It's gonna be fine, 'kay? I got this.”

“Yeah, I know. I'll miss you, is all.”

Kaz's laugh is short but genuine. He's in good spirits, eager to be out in the field again. “You're the one stuck on base this time, huh? Just keep yourself busy, I'll be back before you know it.” A quick gesture to Kinako and she jumps into the chopper, trotting straight to Pequod to greet him.

Venom holds Kaz back before he can follow her, pulling him into a gentle kiss; if Kaz is surprised by the public display of affection he doesn't show it. “If he does anything to you–“, he starts but is interrupted by Kaz's lips, firm against his.

“I got this”, he repeats when they part. Softer, he says: “See you soon, hm?”

Taking a deep breath, Venom nods and lets him go. He steps back, watches the chopper take off like Kaz has done countless times before, rooted to the spot till the horizon has swallowed them completely.

*

Silence reigns the conference room.

Snake stares at the stack of files on the table, blueprints and the profiles of technicians and scientists of varying backgrounds blurring together. All he can see is the name of the folder they stem from, _Project: Metal Gear_ in bold, curved handwriting he recognizes as Ocelot's. Beside him Kaz is motionless, as frozen in place as he is.

Across from them sits Ocelot, reclined into his chair, ankles crossed, expression blank. He looks at Venom. _I told you so._

Venom isn't paying attention. _Two years_ , he thinks numbly. _It's–_

“Impossible”, Kaz rasps, out of nowhere. “What are we, miracle workers? It took Emmerich years to build a bipedal weapon of that size and we all know how well _that_ went.”

Ocelot rights himself, pushing the folder towards him. “You already gathered all you need. Sahelanthropus is right here.” He taps the files. “All it takes is some creative redesigning and–”

“Bullshit!” Kaz's fists hit the table. Venom flinches, startled from his apathetic stare to see Kaz's expression twist with vicious anger. “'Creative redesigning'?! Are you insane? That's not–“

“You're not this dense, Miller. You knew where this was headed.” Although Ocelot's voice stays level it's clear he's getting impatient, eyes narrowed in annoyance.

“That's enough.”

Snake's serious tone cuts through whatever Ocelot wants to say next. Vaguely impressed the other stands down immediately despite everything that has happened recently, he pushes the thought aside to focus on the issue at hand. He turns to Ocelot.

“We build Metal Gear, he backs off. Is that it?”

Ocelot hums, “Pretty much, yeah”, gaze flicking to Kaz, then back to Venom. “Just _behave_ and this'll be easier for everyone.”

That snaps Kaz's thread of patience for good. “Fuck this”, he hisses, standing up with enough force to send his chair clattering to the ground. It's no use trying to stop him; Venom watches him storm out the room, heart heavy.

“You know, Ocelot”, he says dully, gathering his things to follow him, “I don't think there ever was another way.”

Ocelot doesn't object.

*

Venom knocks. He waits, a minute, two. Eventually the door opens. Kaz spares him little more than a glance – “Come in”, he mumbles – and it's enough to see his rage has burned out as fast as it came. Hollowed out by defeat.

“Look, V–“

Venom hugs him, arms tight around his shoulders and it only takes a moment for Kaz to return the embrace, exhaling shakily against his neck before he crushes him close. There are no words between them, none that could express the frustration and anger and sheer _helplessness_ they share, just hours after Ocelot announced what could become their ultimate downfall.

 _Nuclear weapons on Mother Base._ Venom closes his eye, leans his cheek against Kaz's temple. _Again._

“This is ZEKE all over again”, Kaz says quietly. He rubs his nose against Venom's stubbled jaw, breathing him in deeply. “Clock's ticking, V. We're fucked.”

“I know.” Admitting it only makes the empty feeling in his chest expand. White noise in his head, body numb. _We're fucked._

Yet there's some part of him who can't, won't let go. _There's no other way._ Venom squeezes Kaz once more before he steps back, hands sliding down to grip his arms, not quite ready to break their connection. He nods with conviction he doesn't really feel and looks Kaz in the eyes, blue on white, “We'll keep coming. We have to. D'Dogs depends on us.”

“Yeah...” Kaz nods too, rubbing his face with mismatched hands. He chuckles wetly. “Fuck it, we're in too deep to give up now.”

Venom's lips twist into a grim smile. _That's my Kaz._ He cups Kaz's face, kisses his forehead.

Tomorrow he'll go back to FOXHOUND. Venom wants to ask him to stay, _I need you here_ , the words are already on his tongue. He swallows them. They can't show weakness, not now.

“One step ahead of everyone else, huh?”, he says instead. An echo of easier times. Happier times. Kaz's gaze softens, shining with emotion. He knows.

“Exactly.”

*

He finds Pequod tending to his chopper in the hangar, his typical post-mission cooldown. Venom doesn't announce his presence; he sits on a crate in plain sight, legs crossed, and produces his cigar. It's calm for a while. Venom smokes. Pequod works.

A few minutes later – after he finished tidying up, restocking and refuelling his beloved Blackfoot – Pequod nods to himself, wiping his palms on the front of his BDUs. He walks over, picking up a beer from the case he keeps around despite the base-wide ban on alcohol. Venom simply pretends not to know of it.

“Boss!” Pequod's visibly matured since his early days with Diamond Dogs, his face dominated by the dark stubble on his strong jaw – his easy-going smile, however, hasn't changed, infectious as ever. “You're here early. I'm surprised the Commander let you go that easily.”

Venom exhales the last bout of vapor before he packs the cigar away. “He didn't. I slipped out for a bit.”

Something he's always appreciated about Pequod is that he pays attention to the nuances. His eyes narrow the slightest bit, the gears in his mind visibly start to turn. He opens his beer, takes a sip and waits.

“How's he doing?” Pequod tilts his head, requesting clarification. Venom looks down, watches the mechanics of his hand move when he wiggles his fingers. “Kaz doesn't talk much about the time he spends away. Aside from the basics, of course. Says he wants to enjoy his time here. With me.”

Pequod sits down beside him. “Well, obviously you know him better than I do. Always keeps me at arm's length like everyone else but...” A pensive noise. “I think he's glad to have something to do? Something physical, I mean. Seems to me like he's having fun, hounding those poor soldiers.”

Venom chuckles despite himself. _Sounds like Kaz._

Sobering a litte, Pequod continues: “He reminds me of you, actually. Takes him a while to change roles and... he doesn't particularly enjoy being 'Benedict'. Not that I can blame the guy, I like 'Kazuhira' better, too.”

“Yeah, me too”, Venom says before he can stop himself. Pequod's smiling again when he glances over. Teasing him, as he's always done.He pats Venom's back. _I'm too old for this_ , Venom thinks but accepts the consoling touch anyways.

“He misses you, you know?” Pequod has his Boss's full attention. He drinks. “Yeah, he does. Listens to those tapes you gave him all the time, smiling to himself.” He laughs, then, shaking his head in disbelief. “Can't believe I thought he was this tough guy all those years. Turns out he's just as hopeless as you.”

 _Someone sounds jealous_ , Venom wants to say, grinning but he holds himself back. The chances Pequod gets to see his wife are few and far between – there's no need to remind him of that. Leaning back, he feels the unease inside him yield to Pequod's calming words.

There's only one thing left to do. He looks at Pequod, not surprised to find his gaze is already on him. Pequod always pays attention, after all.

“Something's going to give soon, I can feel it. If I don't make it...” Venom breathes out evenly. “Protect him. Promise me, Felix.”

Once upon a time Pequod would've laughed it off – _Nobody gets left behind, Boss!_ – but that youthful confidence has worn off. In its place is a kind of world weariness Venom wishes his friend wouldn't have had to learn. It's the same burden he carries himself.

Pequod finishes his beer in silence. Then he looks Venom in the eye and nods.

"Got it, Boss."

*

“Y'know–“

Venom hums, turning the page. He looks over the rim of his reading glasses at Kaz who comes out the bathroom, towelling off his wet hair.

“–rookies are all the same. Doesn't matter if they work for us or for FOXHOUND or whatever, 's all the same. Too fucking cocky for their own good.”

“Dave again, huh?”

Kaz stops to shoot him a glare.

“... Yeah. Been yelling at him all week but he just won't give up. My throat hurts.”

Pretending to read, Venom mutters, “Reminds me of someone”, and earns himself a wet towel to the face. He grunts and shakes it off, careful to bring the manga in his hands to safety. _Tetsuwan Atomu_ , volume 22.

Kaz joins him on the bed, burying his face in Venom's chest instantly. “I heard that.” Despite it being muffled, Venom recognizes that sullen tone. Kaz is sulking. He drops one hand to play with his hair, rhythmically combing through the damp strands.

“In the end he's just a rookie like all the others. You've always handled those. Right, 'Master Miller'?”

Kaz groans, peeking up from his makeshift pillow. “Don't call me that, 'm tired of hearing it. 'Master Miller, sir!' – just shut up and solve your own problems. Let me be.”

Venom chuckles. “The kid looks up to you, Kaz. Give him a chance.”

“'The kid', huh? I guess so”, Kaz grumbles. Obviously done with that subject for today, he snatches the book out of Venom's hands, laughing when he sees the cover. “You're still reading that?”

“Mhm, wanna know how it ends. I mean, he died how many times now? The last twist's gotta be something else.”

Leafing through it, Kaz smiles, nostalgic. “Well, I'm not gonna spoil it for you.” He puts it aside and reaches for Venom's glasses to take them off. “Let's do something.”

Venom tilts his head. “Like what?”

“Dunno, watch a movie or something. I wanna stop thinking for a bit.”

A while later finds them on the sofa, Kaz's leg propped on Venom's lap, a blanket draped over them both. Ads flicker over the screen, volume on low. “What're we watching?”, Venom asks as he takes the hint and starts massaging Kaz's foot, working the tension out of cramped muscles expertly.

“Uh... _Jurassic Park_ ”, Kaz reads from the VHS case. He shrugs and leans back. “Something about dinosaurs, thought you'd like it so I picked it up on my way home.”

 _Home._ Venom glances at Kaz's relaxed expression, eyes trained on the screen and smiles. “I like the sound of that.”

*

_This is it._

The sentiment rings through every action, every word spoken. Agents are set like chess pieces on every platform, their contacts from other PMCs on alert and ready. On their way to the chopper Venom Snake and Kazuhira Miller walk side-by-side as a united front. It's the last time Kaz'll leave Mother Base for FOXHOUND, one last distraction.

Soon they'll draw first blood.

Venom has always been calm on the cusp of a new mission. This time there's little sleep to be had, the consequences of what they're about to do too unpredictable to sit right with him. Judging by how tight Kaz held him in the early morning hours he's not the only one. Daybreak came, though, and with it crushing reality. Now Kaz's expression is set in stone, his movements stiff with tension as he commands Kinako into the chopper and stores his bag inside, nodding at Pequod in the cockpit.

When he turns around to face Venom his mask cracks, the muscles in his jaw working as he swallows. Nervous. Venom draws him into a wordless embrace, giving comfort the only way he knows how. Pressed against each other their hearts beat as one. Then Kaz exhales and reluctantly pulls away.

He doesn't get far. Venom tugs at his ponytail, tilting his head when Kaz hesitates with a murmured “What?”

“Forgot something?”

The familiarity of Kaz's annoyed look comes as a relief. Venom's lips twitch into a half-smile before they're covered by Kaz's for barely a second in their usual goodbye kiss. “Love you”, Venom says. “Sap”, Kaz responds, giving him another teasing peck, and “See you soon”.

Venom lets him go.

*

There's a tape waiting for him on his bed. _Thank you, my friend._ The alarm sounds around midnight three days later.

*

Venom catches himself shakily against the wall, breathing a grunt of pain as the movement pulls at his midsection. It's a red-slick mess barely held together by the solid pressure of his bionic arm against it. Blood drips through his fingers steadily, pooling under his feet. He knows: not much longer now. The thought brings a twisted sort of relief, a flicker of hope that there's an end to this nightmare.

The stench of smoke is omnipresent. Mother Base burns, falling apart at the seams all around him; it was lost long before his radio crackled for the last time–

“Snake, Metal Gear is gone... Coming for you... It's–“

–but it was in that moment, with the sound of Quiet's voice, desperate, afraid, _dying_ , that he truly understood. _It's over._

There's no time to grieve, to comprehend his loss. Communications cut, an eery silence fell despite the still blaring alarm. Only he and DD were left and the thought of his dog _hurts_ , the memory of him crumbling to the floor in a desperate attempt to save his owner adding to the numbness speading inside him. Good, loyal DD – dead like everyone else except him. _It wasn't enough._ Venom's legs give.

This is how the intruder finds him, kneeling in his own blood with barely enough strength to look him in the eye – and yet he does. Venom has a role to play, one he's been running from for years and it finally catches up to him now, in the form of Big Boss's cold stare on a much younger face.

 _In the end you always win. Don't you, John?_ He almost smiles at the thought. _How predictable._

Despite meeting him for the first time something about David is deeply familiar. Just like Venom his body carries the shadow of another man and, just like him, there are differences that are painfully obvious, ones that can never be erased. David doesn't hold himself like Big Boss does, like Venom Snake should. Meeting David's gaze down the barrell of his gun, the months and years of personal training show from his stance to the firm two-handed grip on his weapon – it's all _Kaz_ and somehow, it's that detail that pierces Venom's defenses more effectively than any bullet could.

_Kaz._

“Any last words?”

David's voice is gruff, difficult to hear over the rushing in Venom's ears. His attention moves to the gun in his face. Venom spits out the blood in his mouth to be able to speak.

“Pitying a dying man, David?”

Anger flashes in those blue eyes. David cocks his gun. “Don't call me that.”

Venom laughs wetly, nodding. He raises a trembling hand and reaches into a hidden pocket in his stealth suit, fumbling for a second in the snug space between plating and leather. Pulling out the omamori he's kept there for years, his thumb brushes over the white stitching and green fabric. It's worn thin, tinted red with fresh blood.

_Kaz._

“You don't owe me anything but...” He gives it to David, falling back heavily when it's safely in his hands. Black is starting to dot his vision; Venom tries to blink the blurriness away, to focus on the words he wants – needs – to say. “Give this to Kazuhira. Can you do that for me, Snake?”

The alarm goes on, breaks through the strange bubble they are in. Outer Heaven's self-destruct. David's fingers tighten around the omamori and Venom relaxes, coughing weakly.

“Go.”

David hesitates, brow furrowing; he hasn't finished his mission yet.

“ _Go._ Place is 'bout to blow anyways.”

A faint crashing proves his point, the metal floor rumbling under their feet. David takes a step back, turning to go. Venom leans his head back and closes his eye, his grip on himself loosening with every passing minute.

He feels cold. Alone.

_Kaz._

“David?”

Senses shot, Venom doesn't know if the name makes it past his lips or if the other is still there. There's one last thing on his mind, one last thought he clings to against the overwhelming darkness around him.

_Kaz._

“Tell him... Tell Kazuhira that–“

 

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> ...  
> ...  
> ...  
>  Before y'all jet to Germany and set my ass on fire: I know the style of this is confusing but alas it's all I have for now. Hit me up (in the comments, my [tumblr](http://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker)) if you have any questions - and rest assured, there are two more parts coming!


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by hayyie and KRIMINELLE.
> 
> Please mind the updated tags, there's some heavy stuff ahead.

The miles rush by, the horizon a blue haze in the distance. From above, even the mighty ocean looks small and insignificant.

Kaz looks out the window and smiles. He's made this trip often enough to know they're close; soon, Mother Base will appear in the early morning fog, silhouetted by the rising sun. Until then Kaz leans back and closes his eyes, turning up the volume of his walkman to fully concentrate on the steady voice in his ear.

… _por el mar crepitante_

_volvemos como dos aves ciegas al muro,_

_al nido de la lejana primavera,_

_porque el amor no puede volar sin detenerse–_

Something wet nudges his flesh hand, predictable enough not to startle him. Kinako's head is turned towards their goal when he glances at her, ears rigidly pointed.

“Almost there”, he reassures her and is mildly surprised to hear a whine in response. Kaz chuckles, reaching out to pet the silken fur between her eyes. “Getting impatient, are we?” _Or hungry_ , he thinks, eyeing his dog's stocky build. Maybe it _is_ time to change her diet as Venom suggested, even if it means admitting she's gotten a little... round lately.

Kaz slips his dog a treat anyways. Kinako nestles close to his legs and sits down again, relaxing ever so slightly against him. Making sure to keep petting her, Kaz turns back to his tape, rewinding the part he missed. It doesn't matter he's heard this exact version of the poem dozens of times already.

– _sin detenerse:_

_al muro o a las piedras del mar van nuestras vidas,_

_a nuestro territorio regresaron los besos._

There's always a pause when Venom finishes. Sometimes the tape crackles with empty static; sometimes, however, Venom hums like he's deep in thought, lingering on Neruda's words a little longer. This is easily Kaz's favorite part, he can picture it so clearly: When Venom lowers the book, his eye searching the ceiling for an answer to whatever he's working out in his mind, and lets Kaz as close to himself as he'll get. Completely unguarded.

 _What is it?_ , Kaz wants to ask him now, thumb brushing over the cover of the tape.  _Sonetos I–LIII_ in Venom's handwriting. _What are you thinking about?_

But the moment is gone, inevitably broken by the rustling of a turning page and a deep breath in the limbo between one poem and the next and–

“Commander.”

Kaz's eyes snap open.

 _Call me Miller at least_ , Kaz had told him on their first flight years ago, ignoring Pequod's hesitant protest. _This mission is bigger than ranks. We're equals now, Richter, if you want it or not._

Pequod repeats himself, more urgent this time.

His jaw is clenched tight when Kaz joins him in the cockpit, the cyclic creaking with how hard Pequod's gripping it. Behind them, Kinako whines again.

“Something's wrong”, the pilot says, expression dead serious, and it's a testament to Kaz's experience that he keeps breathing even though his heart stops there and then.

“Comms must be down or something, I'm not getting through.”

“What? Can't be.” Kaz frowns, digs around in his coat, nodding at Pequod while he searches for his own device. “Try again.”

Pequod does, rattling down his usual line in one breath. They wait, ten seconds, twenty. Glancing at the iDroid in his hands, its bright blue interface stinging in his eyes, Kaz squints to see a red error message flash in the corner, _connection lost_ –

“A drill maybe?”, Pequod offers quietly.

Kaz shakes his head, scrolling through the schedule Venom gave him, “Not for another week”; his gaze darts to the radar. No movement. _Shit._ “Give me that.”

He wastes no time with the headset Pequod hands him, changing to burst transmission with the flick of a switch.

“MB, this is Miller. Come in.”

Nothing.

Kaz grits his teeth, changes frequencies.

“Snake, come in.”

He tries it again and again, switching through every frequency he can think of, public ones, private ones, secret ones - his only answer is static. “V, c'mon, please”, he mumbles, the sinking feeling in his stomach stealing his breath.

Beside him, Pequod has gone silent. Kaz clenches his hand to a fist to hide his trembling fingers.

“ETA?”

“Forty minutes, s-”

Kaz throws the piece of tech back into the pilot's arms, “Make it twenty”, he says as calmly as he can manage and steps out again, eyes falling on the photos on the wall – Mother Base, the zoo, recruits, animals, Buffalo and Quiet, DD and Kinako, him and V–

“ _What's this? Don't you want to keep them?”_

_Venom shakes his head and smiles that half-smile of his, sadder than Kaz remembers it to be._

_"Don't want you to get lonely, Kaz.”_

Kaz blinks the memory away, wipes at his eyes for good measure. He takes a shaking breath.

He starts to pace.

*

Three steps up, three steps down. Repeat.

His surroundings are a blur, registering only dimly at the edge of his racing thoughts and the beat of his heart, thundering in his throat.

 _Connection lost_ , the iDroid blinks every few minutes, every time he tries to–

Kaz knew this could happen. The risks they took were too big to ignore, always lurking in the back of his mind but... Diamond Dogs has protocols. The Security Unit. Quiet, for all he dislikes her still, is a WMD in her own right. They've got _Snake_.

 _We'll make it_ , Kaz repeats in his head, holding on to this fledgeling thing inside him called hope.

Three steps up, three steps down.

Ultimately it's Kinako who stops his pacing. She starts barking, standing on her hind legs to be able to see out the window. Kaz shushes her sharply, looking past her-

Smoke.

Kaz freezes, staring in horror at the far horizon as it's darkened by it, tinted red by the blaze beneath. If his heart stopped before, it now jumpstarts, lurching and trembling like the chopper around him, pushed to its limits. Headed towards the abyss before them.

“Comm–“

“I see it. Keep going.”

Watching Mother Base approach is the hardest thing Kazuhira Miller has ever done and yet, it's the sight of the first platform that makes him truly realize _this is real_. Pieces of debris crash down from what used to be the dome of the Intel Platform, devoured either by flames or the sea and–

_Heat, gunfire–_

“ _Incoming! Move on, go!”_

“Commander Miller!”

“ _Move!!”_

_The screams of dying men; somewhere above a chopper flies by–_

A dog barks, barks, barks.

_Morpho–_

“Kaz!”

He gasps, _breathes_ , in a sudden rush of understanding. Mother Base is gone.

“Kaz, please–“

_Mother Base is–_

“Keep going!”

Kaz tears himself away from the wreckage, the image of singed white burning itself into his mind. Pequod is staring at him, half-way out of his seat, pale and so _young_.

“Sir, we need to–“

“The damage came from the inside. Do you know what this means?” But Kaz doesn't wait for the other to speak; he has to catch up to his thoughts, _focus_ –

“The self-destruct isn't instant, it's timed. One platform after the other, outside to inside. Central Command is the last to go.”

_V–_

“If there's one Diamond Dog to be saved, _we will save them_.” Kaz glares until Pequod sits down again. “Keep. Going.”

With that he turns away, side-stepping a whimpering Kinako to get to his gear. The dog presses close but Kaz shakes her off, instead filling the pockets of his trench coat with ammo before he reaches for the machine gun hanging on the wall. He takes position by the door. He waits.

Platform for platform they pass, appearing ghost-like in the smoke surrounding them; most are beyond recognition, bombed-out shells of themselves that were strategically isolated by the collapsed bridges between them. Kaz swallows thickly, the smell of smoldering metal and fire making his stomach roil but he pushes it all away, eyes straining with effort as he tries to make out what lies beyond their limited horizon–

“No.”

Kaz's breath clouds the window. It's the only evidence he spoke at all.

Up ahead, the ruins of the Command Platform come into view.

“No, no, no”, someone says, desperate, _pleading_ , and it takes a moment for Kaz to understand it's him. He can feel Pequod's gaze on him again, “Sir”, the pilot's voice barely carries through the fog in his mind; all Kaz can see is the blank space where the tower used to stand, where their room used to be, where Venom used to wait for his arrival–

_I need to get down there._

Kaz moves on instinct, fingers hooked and pulling at the handle of the door before his brain has caught up to his actions, a gust of cold wind tearing at his hair and clothes. Adrenaline sings in his blood, makes him step closer to the edge and suddenly everything falls away – the incessant barking behind him, the burning wreck in front of him, the worry, fear, pain of the past hour–

In those few precious seconds he hangs between life and death, Kaz feels something akin to freedom, a sense of relief that _it's over_. He thinks, _I'm coming, V_ , laughing deliriously as he starts to fall–

Strong arms wrap around him and _pull_ , drag him back from the brink, away from V–

“No! Let me go!” Kaz struggles, claws at whoever is holding him back, fights with all he has for what he wants most. “V! Vincente!”

“I'm sorry, Kaz”, Pequod shouts in his ear, he sounds like he's crying, “I promised him–”, but Kaz doesn't _care_ , not when Outer Heaven lies in shambles before them and it's getting harder to breathe–

Too late he realizes he's getting choked; the world grows dark and darker still around him.

All that remains is the smell of smoke, and Pequod's broken apologies.

*

Big Boss is buried a week later, on a cloudy sunday afternoon.

Closed casket, inner circle only.

Kazuhira Miller is gone by morning.

*

The light under the door flickers in and out, proceeded by clicking steps.

A soft scratch on wood, familiar in its pattern, slices through the quiet of the morning.

Blank eyes blink into focus, move off, away, aimless again. Staring past the piles of boxes in the corner, the patchy paintjob on the walls, the weak lightbulb that hangs from the ceiling, struggling to illuminate the room.

 _His_ room. In his new house. Somewhere inside him, Miller finds the energy to huff a mirthless laugh. _Right._

Scratching, again, then a demanding whine. “What?”, he asks, low and raspy but picks himself up from his unmade bed and shuffles over all the same, leaving the door ajar. He crosses his arms at the paw digging into the crack of the door, slowly pushing it open.

Like every morning, Kinako regards him calmly from there. She waits.

Miller knows it's only a matter of time until he loses this particular battle of wills. Eventually he sighs, “Stop that”, meets her stare for a while longer.

He gives in.

The way to the kitchen is longer than he's used to, the hallway almost wasteful in size compared to the cold efficiency of his previous flat. Progress is still slow as he automatically adapts to Kinako's slow pace, taking the time to check the rooms they pass.

“Where'd you leave the others?” Miller barely pauses to allow a response. “Either sleeping or wreaking havoc somewhere, I'm sure. Fuck knows why we ever thought keeping wolves was a good idea.”

Once there, he reaches to unlock one of the cabinets, searching the variety of dog food for the right can. “Could've given them away if it weren't for that, really”, Miller continues, shifting his weight off his organic foot to spare himself the coldness of the tiles. He prepares Kinako's breakfast on autopilot, mixing diced carrots and apples amongst pieces of wet food.

“But try explaining them to whoever's interested. 's better keeping them ourselves, hm, Ki?”

Kinako sits down.

Miller doesn't need to pretend talking to his dog isn't talking to himself by proxy. Not like there's anyone to judge him, anyways.

“Thought so. Here, eat up. Good girl.”

Filling up the rest of the bowls – four in total, marked _Kinako_ , _Dango_ , _Hana_ and _Mona_ respectively – Miller makes to get his own meal, rooting inside the mostly empty fridge. He settles on simple cornflakes which he eats standing by the counter, staring out the window.

Yesterday's snow has doubled over night; a little more and he'll have trouble getting to town. Miller shrugs. Wouldn't be the first time he had to make do with rice and water for a few days.

At least the heating's holding up well enough, going by the fact they didn't collectively freeze overnight.

The clattering of an empty bowl signals Kinako is done. It takes one gesture of Miller's hand and the dog pads over. Her greying muzzle nudges his palm, tail wagging slowly as he rubs the bridge of her nose, working his way upwards to brush away the crusts in the corner of her eyes.

“What do you think? Another day of unpacking boxes, then?”

Kinako blinks. She licks his hand.

“Sounds good. After we found your kids.”

*

It's inevitable.

One moment, Miller's organizing books, clothes, documents, everyday things he unearths from assorted boxes to place them in their respective piles which he then has to defend from curious puppy noses, pointing them at the cartons left empty instead, and the next–

The next, he spots a shade of beige he'd recognize everywhere; one that reminds him of the time he pillowed his head on a bulky chest, nose deeply buried in soft fabric, and looked up to see lips curving into his favorite half-smile–

Forgotten are the dogs toppling over freshly folded clothes and chewing on cardboard, the gentle winter sun peeking through the window, the creaking of an old house around him. Miller's world zeroes in on the scarf that's devastatingly _there_ under his fingers, hidden but never quite buried amongst the pieces of his old life.

Gradually, as if uncovering an ancient book, he opens the lid of the box further, confirming what he already knew.

Firmly wrapped in the scarf there's _him_. His tapes, photos, notes, the walkman he gave Kaz, everything Miller managed to salvage during the haze that was after.

After ten years, it's all that remains. Of him. Of them.

Miller stares at his battered walkman, can barely make out the handwriting on the tape inside with how blurred his vision is but he reaches for it nonetheless, weighing it in his hand. It's trembling, his hand that is, making it all the more difficult to read–

And suddenly he doesn't want to. Suddenly, Miller feels his stomach clench, his lungs barely taking in the air he remembers now he needs more than anything, gasping for something to fill all that empty space inside him. He kicks out, pushes the box away and watches, wide-eyed, as it tumbles and spills its contents, tapes and photos and fabric spreading on the floor like fresh blood.

“No.”

Kinako and her pups gather around the newly reveiled items, ears pointed, slack-jawed and panting and dangerously close to–

“Stop!”

They startle, scatter away like spooked deer. Miller couldn't care less as he rushes to fix what he did, collecting piece after piece in his arms. He glances at the box, _Not safe_ , he thinks, near-frantic, and turns to the first empty drawer he finds under his desk, placing them inside with more care than he's handled anything in his life.

The scarf is last. Miller hesitates. It's smooth under his touch, familiar.

He presses it to his face and inhales, closing his eyes tightly. Smoke and dust and, faintly but there,  _V_.

Miller doesn't deny the tears trailing hotly down his cheeks nor the sobs clawing their way out his throat and into the fabric as he crumbles to the ground.

After all, there's nobody here to judge him.

*

Clicking steps, a soft scratch on wood.

Miller turns his back to the door and hugs the scarf closer to his chest.

*

The house is quiet, even during the day.

Outside it's colder than ever, the cheap thermometer he bought a few weeks after moving in stagnant on its lowest point. Miller hasn't seen the sun in a month, maybe longer; winter has dug its claws in deep.

In the perpetual darkness of polar night, the only source of light is the fire he keeps going even if he has to sidestep a pack of sleeping dogs to rekindle it every morning – or what Miller estimates is morning. His watch stopped working long ago.

Like walking and feeding the dogs, cutting firewood is part of his daily routine. Dull, repetitive, barely more than keeping his hands busy; it's exactly what he needs.

Whiskey takes care of the rest.

Back in his usual arm chair by the fire place, Miller snorts. _Fucking idyllic._ He takes another swing of the bottle.

There's a gun on the table. It's in perfect shape, meticulously maintained, polished even.

It's loaded.

Miller eyes it for a long time. He's had this gun for over a decade; won it in a gamble back when Diamond Dogs was little more than a pipe dream. Back when it was the thought of Big Boss, dead and gone, that put a glass of whatever was closest in his hands.

Belly warm and body numb, Miller's lips twist into a bitter smile. “Nothing has changed”, he says to no one in particular.

Then he finishes his whiskey. Puts more wood in the fire.

He takes the gun.

 _Not today_ , he thinks, and clicks the safety on.

*

Miller can't remember when – or why – he opened that drawer.

His pounding head makes it difficult to remember anything at all, at first. Groaning, Miller goes to rub his face with both hands; he startles when only his flesh hand makes it there.  _Wha–?_

Then it hits him: the phantom pain, the memories. The same darkness outside, day in, day out. The fucking _cold_.

And Kinako.

She's been limping more and more and nothing he does seems to be helping. _She's simply old_ , the vet told him, and: _There's nothing I can do_.

Miller stares at the ceiling for a few wasted seconds, stomach twisting and turning with nausea and worry. When he sits up, he does so slowly as to not vomit all over himself.

It's then that he notices the walkman in his lap. His mind is too fuzzy to make the connection right away but one look at the cover–

_Happy Birthday, Kaz_

– _V._

–and he feels his insides curl for an entirely different reason. It's the remaining alcohol in his veins that dulls the pain just enough to be bearable.

Fingers clumsy and uncoordinated, Miller eventually manages to open the lid and reaches inside to turn the tape around. It falls into place with a final click.

He presses play.

*

Miller walks and feeds the dogs. He cuts wood. He keeps the fire going.

He listens to the tape until the batteries run out, then goes and gets new ones, cold and darkness be damned.

*

The puppies have grown to adults by the time the permafrost starts to thaw, leaving bigger and bigger prints beside Miller's own in the mossy ground of the surrounding woods. Three sets of paw prints, one set of foot prints – with the next village miles out and no neighbors to speak of, that's the way things are for one year, then two.

Which is why Miller stops and stares at the foreign tracks boldly crossing his and, with goosebumps racing up his back, realizes they're fresh, a few hours at most, and he's _unarmed_.

“Fuck”, he breathes, heart tripping with the adrenaline that slams into him for the first time since–

Miller shuts that thought down. _Focus._ The dogs are gathered easily enough, made cautious by the sudden sharpness in their owner's voice and for all but one moment, Miller thinks they should've been trained like DD was. As it stands, he has zero resources against an intruder – intruders? – with unknown intentions and possible backup. _Careless, careless, careless._

The feeble hope that it's just an adventurous hiker dies quickly: the footprints lead straight to his house and the longer Miller follows them, the more he's convinced whoever left them is military. Years as survival instructor left a distinct intimacy with combat boot prints in any weather, any terrain.

That, and how to use familiar surroundings to his advantage.

Thus Miller abandons the tracks, keeping to the woods to conceal his gradual approach as he rounds the perimeter of the house. There's one wall that's devoid of any windows, a blindspot he's been aware of ever since he set eyes on the property. It's usually covered by the row of dog beds on the other side; a trio of barking half-wolves works better than any alarm in Miller's experience.

His heart is heavy when he releases said dogs now, watching them shoot towards the entrance as they always do – giving him a few precious seconds to break open the closest window and make his move. Metal crunches under his bionic, masked by the ruckus at the opposite end of the house.

Miller is armed only moments later, searching and clearing room after room, a steady finger on the trigger, mind calm.

The intruder is in the kitchen.

“Master”, he says.

Miller pointedly says nothing. He sighs, though, and keeps his eyes and his gun trained on the other as he lets the dogs in.

They gather around him first – “Yeah, yeah”, Miller mumbles, gives each a soothing pat on the head – then look at the stranger in their midst, tails wagging tentatively.

Miller takes in David's scruffy beard and the shadows under his eyes only deepened by the all-too familiar bandana he's still wearing. He's thinner than Miller remembers, noticeable even under his baggy denim jacket.

David's shoulders slump under Miller's scrutiny. _A personal visit, then._ He lowers his weapon.

“You owe me a window”, is the reply he settles for, after the silence has stretched far past uncomfortable.

David nods, opens his mouth–

“The footprints were more than sloppy. Left the windows uncovered too, and where the fuck is your gun? Should've shot you on principle, maybe then you'll remember your fucking training.”

Miller sniffs sharply as David swallows whatever he wanted to say. “Thought so”, he spits and leaves him standing awkward and small in his kitchen to tend to his newly-broken bedroom window. A moment of hesitation, then he replaces his gun under his pillow. Retired or not – he can take the kid in a fight any day.

 _Not the kid_ , Kaz reprimands himself. _David._

The dogs are surrounding David when Miller comes back, happily panting and pressing into the careful touches he offers in an honest attempt to please all three of them. Miller catches a glimpse of a gentle smile on David's tired features–

 _A warm look in his eye._ They won't let me leave...

 _Kaz smiles, leads on, says,_ Did you know they're sacred?

–and shakes off the memory that stirs in the back of his mind.

The moment is broken by Miller's piercing whistle and gruff “Down!” that sends the pack scrambling for their respective spots beside the empty fire place; it also makes David stand straight so fast Miller is mildly surprised he doesn't salute on instinct.

Two glasses and a half-empty bottle of whiskey later, Miller leans against the counter. It's his last, he notes with a displeased grunt.

“How'd you get here?”  _How did you find me?_ Is what he's really asking. The way out here is a long one. Miller figures he can throw him a bone.

David takes the glass he's offered. “Asked around”, he answers, voice rough, “hitched a ride, walked the rest of the way.” He knocks his drink back with proficiency, one Miller'd raise an eyebrow at if he had any room to talk.

He doesn't.

“The people around here know you by name.”

Judging by the frown on his face, David didn't mean to say it. He looks into the now-empty glass in his hand. “Didn't expect that.”

“They're a nosy bunch. Could only keep them off my back for so long.”

Another long bout of silence. Miller drinks, slower, pretending to enjoy the whiskey that stopped tasting like anything long ago.

David clears his throat. “Where's Kinako?”

“Died”, Miller tells him coldly, keeping the old pain off his face. “Cancer, some other things. Buried her outside so she has her pups close.”

He sighs before he sets his drink aside.

“Why are you here, Dave?”

Maybe it's the old nickname that slips out unbidden, or the begrudging sympathy Miller can't quite put aside: David glances up and nods, relief bleeding through the tense set of his jaw. He never was the best at small talk.

“Big Boss is alive.”

Miller narrows his eyes. Again, he says nothing.

And again, David nods. “You knew.”

Years ago, Miller might've felt guilty for the hurt that shines in David's eyes but there's no space for that in his mind; the thought of revenge returns like an old friend, out of sight but never forgotten.

He thinks, too, of singed white and the smell of smoke.

“Master, I–“

“Got anyone on mission support yet?”, Miller interrupts, already in motion. He grabs a writing pad and the first working pen he finds, and starts writing, checking David's expression. “Well?”

Hope clings to the slight upturn of David's lips, “Wanted to ask you first”, he admits as he steps closer.

The sharp noise of ripping paper raises heads in the living room but the dogs hold their position. Miller hands over the page filled with messily scrawled instructions.

“Meet these and I'm in.”

David skims them. “No alcohol, huh?” He's intelligent enough not to mention the bottle standing on the kitchen counter.

“Wanna rid the world of Big Boss, once and for all? Be at the top of your game.”

Miller gives him a hard look then, measuring the determination on David's face. Satisfied, he puts his hand on his shoulder, squeezes tightly.

"And put some damn weight on. You're not a rookie anymore.”

Miller's smile is more a grim show of teeth than anything else. But it's there.

“Leave the rest to me."

*

The radio falls silent shortly after noon on Christmas Eve, 1999.

Master Miller stares at the array of screens that flicker to darkness now that the mission is over, “Target eliminated”, as Snake announced an hour ago, the comms rustling with the feedback of his panted breaths.

“Mission complete, Snake”, Miller had replied, like he's done countless times before, with Dave, with–

But unlike those he knows: this is the last time. The moment Miller takes off the headset and leaves his desk, it's undoubtedly, irrevocably _over_.

_Big Boss is dead._

He moves. Gets up, walks down the hall, past the living room and out on his porch, and only when his sight is full of untouched, endless, blinding _white_ does he stop.

Miller sits down on the very edge, bare mismatched feet planted ankle-deep in the snow. Cold bites, numbness turning to burning pain as his skin slowly reddens.

And still the buzzing in his mind prevails, a thick fog no thought can quite pierce.

_Big Boss is dead._

So Miller drinks. He smokes, too, digs up the pack of cigs he bought on a whim years ago, and coughs through the initial drag like it's his first.

 _It's over._ After decades of work, revenge is finally his.

He stays outside, lighting cigarette after cigarette, searching the starry horizon for signs of– something, even if he can't remember why.

He's still alive, even if he doesn't know what for.

*

A cheerful chime tears Miller's attention from the tapes he's sorting. The older ones – those due for cleaning and rewinding – he puts aside, the rest goes back on the shelf.

His cell phone is on the kitchen counter; Miller uses its messaging system so rarely he needs a minute or two to refamiliarize himself with the design, one he finds inefficient to say the least. _Who needs a flippable screen?_

It had been David's choice, though. _Don't wanna hike out here every time_ , he said as he pushed the device into Miller's hand. _'S got your old contacts on it, too._

An occassional call or message aside, it had gone largely ignored – or so Miller told David. Never would he admit he's spent more time than is reasonable on beating the pre-existing highscore of _Snake_ on the thing, although he came close the day he finally beat it.

He flips it open now, squints at the screen that lights up instantly. There's two unread messages: one of a contact called 'PQ', which he ignores as usual, and one of 'The Kid'. It reads:

_Inc_

_\- D._

Miller doesn't bother to answer. Instead he switches the coffee machine on, goes to check first the dogs – all three doze on the porch, drowsy from their recent walk in the sun – and then his mailbox.

Amongst a few bills there's a postcard and, like all the others he's received over the years, it's entirely blank except for his address typed in a neutral font. The front shows Victoria, Seychelles, bathed in the golden light of sunrise.

Miller scowls. _Ocelot._ He expected to have his peace from him after essentially getting Big Boss barbequed but it seems even that is not enough to get rid of him. What he's baiting for this time, Miller doesn't know, and he doesn't care to find out. He keeps the bills and throws the card away.

It's not much later that David arrives, silent as ever on his feet. Less silent are the dogs that forget all about their lethargy to greet him properly.

“Master”, he says after most of the happy barking is over.

“Doorbells exist, Dave”, Miller sighs and passes him his coffee. Two sugars, a little milk. “Come on. Dango already warmed your spot.”

Ever since David moved to Alaska, there's been more time for this: Sitting on the porch, sharing a drink or a meal, on the off chance one of them feels like cooking. Sometimes they talk, sometimes they don't. A partnership of convenience in the most basic sense.

It wasn't always this calm. _David_ wasn't calm, not that Miller could blame him. It took him years to forget his first few kills, to completely wash off the smell of blood at the end of the day.

There's something on David's mind, though; Miller can tell by the absent look in his eyes, how he sits without moving, controlled breathing, like he forgot he's allowed to make noise.

Miller gives him time. He drinks his coffee – black, no sugar – then gets the tapes he set aside earlier and starts cleaning them. Busywork for his hands, mostly.

“You like Santana?”

David's voice is quiet, hesitant to interrupt. Miller glances at the cover, _Santana, Beyond Appearances_ , and shrugs.

“Good music. Good memories linked to it, too.”

David watches him work, “Good memories, huh?”, he repeats in that peculiar way of his but doesn't add to it. Miller doesn't push.

One tape more, then:

“Master?”

Miller hums.

“Who's Kazuhira?”

Miller tenses, suddenly aware of David's intent gaze on him. He keeps his face blank.

"Why do you ask?”

Beside him, David shifts, takes a deep breath. “I... The guy I killed. In Outer Heaven. Something was off about him but I didn't think– Yeah. Doesn't matter now, I guess.” He swallows audibly.

“He said something. Gave me something, too.”

Miller feels sick, feels like he's back in the chopper and watching his world burn, but he nods anyways. “What?”, he rasps, straining to sound unaffected. “What did he...?”

“'Give this to Kazuhira'.”

And Miller knows, whatever it is David's taking out of his pocket, it'll break him for good. He stares at the tape in his hand for a moment longer, then slowly turns–

He recognizes it instantly, despite the blood, despite how long he hasn't seen it, or its counterpart. Miller blinks against the rush of tears. He swallows hard.

"...Anything else?”

“'Tell him I'm sorry'”, David whispers, and there's a sort of horrified understanding blooming in his eyes that Miller simply can't take. He exhales shakily, looks down, to the delicate plastic creaking in the tight grip of his bionic fingers.

Everything that's left. He puts it aside.

“It's you? You're–?”

“Stop.”

David does.

Miller gets up and goes inside.

*

When he comes back, he has two bottles of beer in one hand and a pack of photos in the other.

“You want the truth?”

David looks up, accepts the bottle that's handed to him. He doesn't speak; he knows better. He nods once, firmly.

Miller leans his elbows against the railing. He imagines, just for a moment, that it's made of sun-warmed metal, that the light breeze playing with his hair smells of sea salt when he inhales. He can hear the distant _thud thud thud_ of combat boots on hard ground, the cries of the sea gulls circling the sky. In the distance, a chopper nears.

For one moment, he's _home._

Miller exhales. He drinks, tries to wash away the lump building in his throat.

“My name is Kazuhira Miller. The man you killed... His name was Vincente Ruiz. My CO”, Miller grits his teeth, “and Big Boss's phantom.”

_I love you, Kazuhira–_

He closes his eyes.

Then he talks. He talks about betrayal and revenge and Metal Gear, about hope and rebellion and how it was all for nothing, in the end. “He was a good man”, Miller finds himself saying but how to explain someone like V in words? A man who'll be forgotten by history, whose identity was erased from all records – whose very existence is only proven by the photos in Miller's hands and a few tapes, played and rewound so often they're on the brink of tearing.

It's deep into the night when, all of the sudden, Miller's words run out. Sitting side by side with the man who killed his lover, Miller's story ends just like that, between one breath and another but unlike Neruda's poems there's nothing to follow the silence it brings.

It's David who moves first. “Here”, he mumbles and waits for Miller to open his hand before he places the omamori in his palm.

Miller's fingers close around it like he's holding a butterfly, too delicate to touch. He thinks of his own, bright red and hidden in the drawer still, thinks, _We match now_ , and feels all the worse for the joyless huff of a laugh it elicits.

“I'm sorry, Master.”

David sounds like it's taking his all to speak. For the first time in hours, Miller looks him in the eyes, and what he finds there makes his heart ache. Him and Venom, they knew what they were getting into. They knew the risks.

David didn't. He was just there to clean up the mess, right from the start.

His father's mess. _Their_ mess.

“You never asked for any of this, Dave. And... if there's anyone who would've understood, it's him.”

Miller's hand opens on its own accord. Blood-soaked as they are, the birds are still there, flying towards an uncertain goal.

Miller puts it in the breast pocket of his shirt, over his heart. He glances at David, how his hands clench to fists on his thighs, his strong back bowed. Carrying the weight of the world on his shoulders.

“V used to say we're fighting for the future, not the past. Don't know if it was worth it but... Was all we had, you know? All that's left now, too.”

Miller reaches over, then, rests his hand on David's shoulder without pressure. He smiles at David, because it's what the kid needs. He owes him this, at least.

“Find something worth fighting for, Dave. Can be a cause, a person, anything. Find it and keep going.”

Only when some of the tension has passed does he let go. Miller gathers the empty bottles, the photos. He pats David's back before he picks himself up.

“Stay the night, if you want. My couch is yours. I'd warn you about the dog smell but something tells me you won't mind.”

David's lips twitch into a fleeting smile, there and gone again. Miller knows, whatever life throws at him, _he'll be fine._

He goes inside and leaves the door open.

*

Miller grunts as he heaves the fifty pound bag of kibble out of the trunk, closing it with a solid _thunk_ that shakes the entire jeep. The sun hangs low enough to sting in his eyes on the short way to the house; Miller squints, concentrates on keeping his footing in the fresh snow. It looks innocent but years living high up north taught him never to trust in that – the compact ice underneath is most vicious when disregarded, after all.

He's out of breath when he gets to the front door. _Used to be easier_ , he muses, fishing for his keys in the pockets of his bomber jacket. The times when he could blame the cold for his stiff joints has passed.

Twilight hits when he unlocks the door, painting everything it touches red; the keys hit their intended spot on the shelf and only when he's inside and taking off his heavy shoes does Miller notice he hasn't been run over by a pack of dogs yet.

“Hana? Mona?”, he calls, setting down the bag. The hallway remains empty.

Miller frowns and reaches for the gun hidden underneath the shelf.

The wooden floor creaks under his weight as he moves inside, every step calculated, every breath counted. The back of his neck tingles uncomfortably like eyes are following his every motion, yet nothing's out of–

There's a postcard on the kitchen counter. Blue skies, a military ship at anchor. _The Mikasa_ , in big letters.

Miller tenses. He didn't put it there. _Dave...?_

But his phone was silent the entire day. No new messages.

“Got the mail. Don't throw it away again, will ya?”

His gun is barely raised when the first shot rings out, tearing through his bionic arm, bursting metal plating at the seams. Miller grits his teeth against the pain that runs through his shoulder, catching himself against the wall; his right arm hangs uselessly by his side, completely unresponsive. The gun clatters to the ground.

“Ocelot”, he spits out, gaze tracking the muzzle of an all too-familiar revolver that moves to his head before he glares at its user.

He has visibly aged, formerly blonde hair now fully white down to his moustache but Miller's worked with him – against him – long enough to recognize the steely look in his eyes for what it is. Ocelot's here on business.

The sharp smirk, too, is a dead giveaway. Ocelot makes a gesture like he's tipping an invisible hat. “Miller. Fancy meeting–”

“Enough of your games.” Miller's remaining hand clenches to a fist. “What did you do to my dogs?”

Ocelot is unbothered by the interruption, shrugging casually. “Nothing. Locked them in. Dogs I can handle, as you know.”

Once upon a time, Miller's temper would've flared at the taunt but he's too old for headless anger. Instead he shifts against the tiles at his back, standing straighter.

“Get to the point. You here to kill me?”

Ocelot blinks calmly. _Close enough._ Miller bares his teeth, the smile too hostile to be considered as such. “Took you long enough.”

Their eyes lock for what couldn't have been more than a few seconds but to Miller it feels like years, a decade of distant enmity compressed into a fleeting moment.

“Y'know”, Ocelot says then, surprising Miller when he lowers his revolver, “I told him back then you wouldn't make it this far. Figured you'd get tired of just surviving eventually.”

Miller barks out a laugh. “You don't know shit about me, _Adam_.”

“I know enough, Kaz.”

Miller's smile is gone.

“Get the fuck out of my house.”

“No.”

Ocelot steps closer. He holsters his weapon, takes off his gloves. The skin underneath is pale, crossed with scars. “I made a promise, you see?”

“Since when d-“

Miller expects the blow yet barely manages to counter it, the deadweight of his bionic throwing off his balance. He snarls, pushes off the wall to give himself more room to fight; Ocelot sends him back again and again, his fists eventually drawing enough blood to fleck the tiles with it, Miller's mouth filling with the taste of copper–

And then it's over. Ocelot's punch digs itself into Miller's stomach and he doubles over, a kick to his face sending him sprawling on the ground, gasping, lungs clenching as he chokes on his own blood.

Pain makes his vision hazy, his half-lidded eyes unable to focus for too long but what he sees makes his heart lurch in fear because _Ocelot's angry_ , face twisted in rage even if he steps back now, breathing hard.

He brushes his hair out of his face, wipes the back of his hand over his mouth. Red clings to his moustache.

With the last of his strength, Miller rolls to his side. “Finish it”, he coughs out weakly, “'s what you came for... right?”

Ocelot regards him coldly.

“You deserve nothing else.”

He reaches into his coat-

“But he's waiting."

Something hits Miller's chest, hard enough to make him whimper.

"I kept my end. Now keep yours.”

*

Miller's grasp on reality is slipping.

One moment, Ocelot is there, spurs clicking as he turns away; the next he's alone again, adrift in the ebb and flow of agony.

Eventually, he can't remember when or how or why, his fingers reach, then close around the bundle in front of him.

He doesn't let go, even when night falls around him.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> There's two things I'd like to say concerning the changes to Kaz's plotline in this chapter:
> 
> \- Master Miller's canon family doesn't exist in this story, not because I'd like to erase that part of his character, but because I don't see a way he'd let anyone that close after losing everything (again). I have a few HCs concerning Nadine and Catherine for "canon" Master Miller, with which I worked in [Help Me I'm Feeling!](http://archiveofourown.org/works/8833051).
> 
> \- Along a similar vein, Miller didn't move to LA but went straight to Alaska.
> 
> I have to admit I'm no expert on Solid Snake's timeline - if there's anything I got wrong, please let me know <3
> 
> As for this story, there's one final chapter to go. It's gonna be shorter, more an epilogue of sorts, so keep an eye out for that next week!
> 
>  
> 
> Poem (English translation):
> 
> "XXXIII"  
> Love, we're going home now,  
> where the vines clamber over the trellis:  
> even before you, the summer will arrive,  
> on its honeysuckle feet, in your bedroom.
> 
> Our nomadic kisses wandered over all the world:  
> Armenia, dollop of disinterred honey-:  
> Ceylon, green dove-: and the Yang-Tse with its old  
> old patience, dividing the day from the night.
> 
> And now, dearest, we return, across the crackling sea,  
> like two blind birds to their wall,  
> to their nest in a distant spring:
> 
> because love cannot always fly without resting,  
> our lives return to the wall, to the rocks of the sea:  
> our kisses head back home where they belong.
> 
> \- Pablo Neruda (1959): "100 Love Sonnets/Cien sonetos de amor", translation by Stephen Tapscott (1986), p. 72-73.


	3. Epilogue

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Beta-read by hayyie.

The crest of the hill gives way to the vibrant green of fresh grass fighting off the last remnants of winter.

He stops and checks his phone. The GPS indicates a point further down the cobbled road so he goes on, the coordinates on his screen adjusting to his position as he walks.

The park is mostly empty, the few joggers brave enough to face the morning chill spread out like colorful dots on an empty canvas. There's a person feeding ducks by a pond, another playing with their dog. It jumps higher and higher to catch the ball its owner is throwing.

He slows down to watch, just for a moment, and ignores the stab of longing in his heart.

He walks until the tips of his boots hit the shore, creating small ripples in the water. The pond is covered in petals, falling like fresh snow from the branches of the near-by cherry trees.

It's peaceful. It doesn't make _sense_.

There's nothing here.

He huffs, shakes his head. _There has to be._

He finds a free bench and brushes off the lacquered wood to take a seat, dumping his bag and backpack beside it.

_There's still time._

He waits.

*

The ducks startle and take flight.

He watches them until they're out of sight, then glances back to the man they left behind, doing the same. There's a certain sadness to how he gazes after them – or maybe it's the way he clearly relies on his cane to stand, the distinct weariness in his movements as he turns to go.

The old man's headed towards him. He looks away, pretends to be engrossed in his phone even though the dot on the screen hasn't moved for an hour, the same combination of numbers blinking at him, one last taunt he can't make sense of.

 _Click. Step, step._ The shuffling steps come closer, then slow down.

 _Is this seat taken?_ , he expects the man to say, or maybe, _Do you mind if I sit?_ , and he's already sliding over when–

“Kaz?”

– and it takes one endless second for him to realize it's _his_ name, his name in _that_ voice, that voice he remembers so clearly from those tapes and, almost forgotten, one morning ten years ago.

Finally Kaz looks up, finally he pays attention to the things he missed; like the familiar slope of the man's shoulders and the few stubborn streaks of brown in his grayed hair. Incredibly – impossibly – the man moves, one step closer, then two, until he's standing in front of him and Kaz is just sitting there, staring.

“You're here”, the voice says, sounding as stunned as Kaz feels, and there's that damned half-smile, the one that has haunted Kaz like nothing else in those cold lonesome years, slowly spreading on chapped lips, “You came." Kaz barely hears it over the ringing in his ears–

He's off the bench and in the man's space before the other can react. There's no hesitation at all before Kaz slaps him _hard_ , enough so to feel his own palm sting; it's that pain that makes him realize– “Oh fuck”, he whispers, eyes wide, “Holy fuck”, and pulls him close.

Kaz doesn't think. He kisses him, a real kiss like he's wanted ever since he stepped into that fucking chopper a decade ago, and in the space between their lips Kaz finds _him_ again. “V”, he breathes, whines, “Oh god, V”, and digs his fingers deeper into V's shirt to keep him there.

V has the audacity to be _surprised_ by Kaz's eagerness, pressing into the kiss after a moment of uncertainty. “You're alive”, he mumbles against Kaz's lips, disbelieving, to which Kaz replies, “Shut up. Kiss me.”

V kisses him.

It's Kaz who pulls back first, breathing hard, heartbeat thrumming in his throat. Tears run down his cheeks but he couldn't care less as he presses his face to V's neck and breathes; V still smells the same and _oh_ , the scarf was a poor substitute for the real thing, alive and warm and _here_.

“Asshole”, he mumbles, thick and muffled against V's shoulder. He sniffs, hugs him closer. “You absolute bastard.”

V chuckles wetly and nuzzles Kaz's temple. “I'm sorry”, he whispers hoarsely. “I'm so sorry, Kaz. I had no other choice.”

Kaz remembers the bundle of documents Ocelot gave him, a fake ID, passport, plane tickets... and the coordinates.

_He's waiting._

Kaz wipes his face with the sleeve of his trench coat. He leans back. V's gaze is already on him, eyes shining with tears; Kaz takes in all the changes he missed, how deep the worry line between his eyebrows has gotten, how age has made V's skin thin and papery. Now that he's calmed down a little, he remembers the cane and slow, shuffling steps.

“I'm never letting you out of my sight again”, he tells V firmly. “Never. I'm not leaving you again, you hear me?”

V's lips start to tremble. He nods, “Kaz”, he says helplessly, like it's the only thing left on his mind, and reaches for him.

Kaz takes his hand. He presses his forehead against V's, brushes their noses together gently.

_The past doesn't matter now._

And for the first time, Kaz actually believes it.

*

The cemetary is quiet.

David walks slowly, eyes on the ground. One step after another.

Hal stayed in the car to guard the dogs. He's worried, David knows. He wants to help. But with everything they share, this is something he has to do alone.

Miller's grave is nothing special. There's no quote, no unnecessary decorations. Just a name and a date:

_McDonnell Benedict Miller_

_†_   _February 25, 2005_

Year after year, David comes back. He takes the flowers he left behind the time before, and puts down new ones.

This year's are sunflowers. Judging by Hal's look, they're not the usual choice for this kind of thing. David is pretty sure Miller wouldn't care either way. Never seemed to be the flowers kinda guy.

“Master”, he says. “I'm back. Left the dogs with a friend for today, in case you're wondering.”

He crouches down to take last year's poppies, “Here you go”, he mutters as he makes to replace them.

Something lies underneath. David frowns and lifts the dead flowers higher, uncovering a flash of red and green–

Heart beating like a drum against his ribcage, he reaches for green fabric – the omamori is soft to the touch, cleaner than he remembers it to be. The blood is gone, revealing the sign of 恋 on the front.

It's tied to its red counterpart by a white cord. David has never seen it and yet, he knows exactly what he'll find when he flips it over.

A pair of birds, flying together.

David smiles, "For good luck, huh?"

He puts down the sunflowers.

David takes the omamoris and never comes back.

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> :3c And y'all really thought I could resist a happy ending...
> 
> But! This is it. That's the series. All stages of Vkaz in one spot for your reading pleasure <3 I hope the ending was worth the wait - @ those who were here from the very start, I salute you for your immense patience with my non-existent uploading schedule. You're the true MVPs in all this.
> 
> A huge THANK YOU goes to my beta-readers, especially candeloro, who beta-read most of this monstrosity, and hayyie, who convinced me to Let Them Live after all.
> 
> As always, hit me up in the comments, on [tumblr](http://kawaiibooker.tumblr.com/) or [twitter](https://twitter.com/kawaiibooker) with any questions, comments or yelling about Vkaz. Especially the latter. Yes.
> 
> UPDATE: I wrote a sort-of-sequel to this called [Bury My Heart (Next To Yours)](http://archiveofourown.org/works/12260727/chapters/27862776) for [Vkaz Week 2017](http://vkazweek.tumblr.com/), which explores V's and Kaz's life post-reunion.
> 
> (More generally, there's a [one-shot series](http://archiveofourown.org/series/411663) that delves deeper into aspects of Vkaz not covered in the main series.)


End file.
